On Mother’s Day I think of you. Of all the things you gave me. All the things you taught me. All the ways you sacrificed so I could have a good childhood.

And I did mom. So much better than the life you had as a child. I know you sometimes recount all the mistakes you think you made with us. But don’t you know that you gave so much more than you could ever have dreamt for yourself when you were a child? Don’t you know that you broke the cycle of alcoholism and abuse allowing your children to never have to know that torment?

And your strength, even now. Even in this time when you face the harsh reality you never dreamed would happen alone, instead of the plans you had with dad for your golden years, even now I see that strength. That strength you taught me in deed and in word. The strength that I have inside me because of you.

No language can express the power, and beauty, and heroism, and majesty of a mother’s love. It shrinks not where man cowers, and grows stronger where man faints, and over wastes of worldly fortunes sends the radiance of its quenchless fidelity like a star.

For baking a European-quality cake every Sunday and feeding it to us for breakfast with a vitamin every morning.

For preparing delicious home-cooked meals every day and cooking our favourite meal on our birthdays.

For reading to us every night. For singing ‘You are my Sunshine.’ For brushing my hair while we watched TV. For helping us with our homework. For teaching us manners, good work ethic, respect, honesty and integrity.

For making sure that we went on outings to get fresh air by visiting the zoo, going on a picnic, going to the park, going to the beach, going on a bike ride, taking a walk and so many other things. Things that you did not experience as a child.

This past Sunday, my daughter Michaela and her boyfriend Josh drove 5 hours south to spend the weekend with me for Mother’s Day. We had an awesome visit, but more on that in a minute.

Having had a chance to reflect on our weekend got me to thinking about Mother’s Days of the past. The beautiful handcrafted cards and noodle art. Going to a department store, handing over $20 and being told to go to the other end of the store so she could surprise me with a gift. Michaela could never wait for the actual day though, begging me “please mom, please, please, please, can I give you your present early, puh-leeeeeeaaaaaassssseeeeeeee?”

And when she began getting an allowance, the gifts bought with her own money from garage sales, dollar stores and convenience stores ranging from coffee mugs and statuettes to books, candles and bubble bath became Mother’s Day fare.

Then there were the ‘breakfasts in bed.’ Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the effort, really. But I’m not a breakfast eater and the meals that were brought to me in bed (really early in the morning, like before dawn because she was excited) included microwaved Kraft Dinner, burnt toast drenched in butter, cereal with sprinkles and Ants on a Log.

That was then…

You’re old enough to know now Michaela, that when I sent you out of the room to fetch something, I was tossing these meals, lovingly made by you, into the garbage and pretending I’d gobbled it down when you came back. Love You! ❤ MOM

Flash forward to the present. My little girl ain’t no little girl no more. She’s a 20 year-old woman with a life of her own and a bright future ahead of her. It had been a while since we’d seen each other and I had been counting down the days to Mother’s Day like a little kid counts down the days to Christmas.

And a wonderful weekend it was; including a visit to the Calgary Zoo, a lovely bouquet of flowers and being treated to Mother’s Day breakfast at a restaurant whose menu did not include any of the above-mentioned delicacies.

This is now…

Me and Michaela

What a great Mother’s Day! I loved our chats on the bed, on the balcony and in the car where we also demonstrated our Kelly Clarkson singing for Josh. Michaela, thanks for making this Mother’s Day and all the ones in the past so special!

A few days before Christmas back in ’38, little Margot was born in Germany to Ruth and Fritz. The first of six children born during, and post World War II, little Margot did not have an easy life. But my brother Michael and I are so glad she came to be; in spite of the gross and disturbing act she would later commit with Heinz.

I’ll get to that later.

In ’59 the not-so-little-anymoreMargot married Heinz…

My parents on their wedding day in Berlin, Germany (a photo of a photo)

…and one year later they immigrated, or as we like to say in our family (ACHTUNG – SIE VERLASSEN JETZT WEST BERLIN) to Montreal, Quebec, Canada with twenty odd bucks in their pocket to start a new life as Canadians eh.

Below is what they looked like as Canadians.

Sometime in the spring, around May of ‘62, Margot had sex with Heinz and this somewhat disturbing act (at least to me, I’m sure they liked it alright) led to the birth of little Diana (me) on Valentine’s Day back in ’63.

Yup, that’s right, I’m a LOVE child!

Ever since that day Margot has been known as Mom, therefore she is qualified to be the beneficiary of Mother’s Day greetings. You would think Margot A.K.A Mom had learned her lesson. But no, she had sex with Heinz A.K.A Dad AGAIN in the fall, around September of ‘63! Doubly disturbing (both to Michael and I, I’m sure they liked it alright – why else would they do it AGAIN?!!) As a result, in June of ‘64 on a not-so-notable day, (as in not Valentine’s Day or Easter or even Groundhog Day) Michael was born, wrecking all possibilities for Diana to grow up in a pampered and spoiled way, like a princess who is continually catered to and pampered(oh I already said pampered – it’s still a raw subject for me)

Ohh-h but don’t you worry I got my revenge by giving Mom many a I-can’t-believe-anyone-in-their-right-mind-would-eat-that Mother’s Day breakfasts in bed and hordes of macaroni art. In later years my always-tough-you-can’t-get-me-to-break Dad couldn’t just stand by and witness these things anymore, so he began the annual hey-it’s-Mother’s Day-we’re-going-out-to-the-Chinese-restaurant-day tradition.

Anyway, what I really want to say is Happy Mother’s Day Mom!

Thanks for all the times you were there for us.

Thanks for every band-aid on every scraped knee.

For every bobo you kissed.

For teaching us how to clean our rooms every freakin’ Saturday over and over and over again until we got it right.

I love you!

Diana

My parents in the Olivia Newton John and John Travolta phase

The Happy Couple

Mom and Dad enjoying dinner in Montreal

Mom sitting on the washing machine during the rinse cycle – Don’t ask!

Every May we celebrate our mothers on Mother’s Day. There is no one on earth who loves us more – a mother would give her very life to protect the life of her child. As women we don’t often realize how much our mothers sacrificed until we are grown and have children of our own. Here are some memories that I have of my mother.

My earliest memory is sucking in my gut so I wouldn’t get pricked with the safety-pin while my mother changed my diaper.

I used to love it when my mother washed my hair and then brushed it while we watched a TV show together.

Once when needing a booster shot I pushed the doctor into his examining table. My mother had to stomp on my foot with her Dr. Schultz wooden shoe so that the doctor could give me my shot. I was screaming so loudly that when we exited the office, we noticed the Waiting Room had emptied out! I can only imagine what the children and their parents thought of this terrifying episode.

My mother used to feed us little treats out of the bulk bins while she shopped for groceries. In fact, any time I opened my mouth to speak, cry or complain, she was ready with a lollypop or some kind of food item. This may explain why I weighed 36 pounds at thirteen months old!

Saturday was cleaning day. Once my brother and I yelled out through our parent’s bedroom window, “HELP US! – OUR MOTHER LOCKS US UP WITH CHAINS AND FORCES US TO CLEAN THE HOUSE!”

My mother went to every parent/teacher interview. There she would learn from my teachers how I had warned them to only say good things about me or they would surely be killed by my mother.

My mother is hard of hearing and is very skilled at lip-reading. So when most kids felt they were safely out of ear shot, mine was confronting me on things I said across the street.

When my first boyfriend, Steve picked me up for our first date, my mother warned, “Have her home by ten or I’ll snap you like a twig!” I was home at 9:30PM. Another time she saw him walking as she was driving and in a matter-of-fact way reported to me, “I saw your idiot boyfriend walking down the street with a Pepsi bottle on his head.”

Every Christmas Eve my mother hustled us upstairs to get dressed while Santa (dad) noisily slammed the front door and put presents under the tree. At Easter there were the egg hunts; the Easter Bunny (mom) was a clever Hider of Treats. And then there were the many road trips to Upper Canada Village, Niagara Falls, New York, Ohio, New Brunswick and the numerous flights on Lufthansa (the best airline in the world according to dad) to Germany to visit my omas, opa, aunts, uncles and cousins.

There are too many memories to list here and the truth is I was quite a handful. Yet my mother kept on loving and protecting me. For many years our relationship was strained. But I have grown to appreciate her sacrifices and we now enjoy an adult relationship as friends. Two years ago, we began a tradition; hopefully one that will continue for many years to come. For the first time for either of us we went on a two-week tropical vacation. This trip has become something I eagerly look forward to every January and it has strengthened our relationship in surprising and delightful ways. See pictures below.